


Cyborea's Legacy

by Sam_Seven



Series: Familiar Face [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (I swear), (some references nothing more), Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Follow the link in the first note to vote and free Chloe or not just like in the game, Happy Ending, Last story of a trilogy, M/M, Other, Own translation from French, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Revolution, Revolutionaries In Love, androids are going to be 'them' and not 'it' (you'll understand why it took so long), crime investigation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-01-06 05:13:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18381662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam_Seven/pseuds/Sam_Seven
Summary: The unique RK900, Conrad, is ready to discover his origins and why he was created, but the betrayal of Mark Spencer, who had supported him with Gavin, makes his situation dangerous. Yet Gavin may not be his only ally to ensure a more lenient destiny for androids...Moodboard on Tumblr [coming soon]French version here





	1. Black Cats are hungry

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [L'Héritage de Cyborea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18375917) by [Sam_Seven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam_Seven/pseuds/Sam_Seven). 



> Just like for _Last Stop_ , same warning: _Face Familiar_ is a trilogy with stories that follow each other, **you won't be able to understand the second survey without having read the first, so the third survey will be even less clear if you haven't read the stories in order.**
> 
> For those who follow correctly, I offer you a very small introductory chapter and a few (many) clarifications before the last survey:
> 
> In the third story, many elements of the game will come back, and even if I might spoil a little, I prefer to specify **what I changed in the lore** , so that the reading will be more fluid, and you won't doubt your memory:  
> 1\. Androids can't (and in my fics, they will never be able to) remove their LEDs.  
> 2\. Androids can't transfer deviancy. What's different from the game is that the deviant androids were less numerous and all were made when Kamski was CyberLife's CEO, and they went to Jericho in the same way as Markus. You'll have stories in detail, if it isn't clear.  
> 3\. Markus isn't a leader, or not really. For gameplay issues, I think, we could only play Markus in Jericho, so he made all the decisions, while talking about freedom for androids. To make his intentions consistent, in the story, he was the one who was in the front line and the most noticed by the media, but the other androids of Jericho, including Josh, North and Simon, were as important as him. Jericho's androids are free and don't only rely solely on Markus. It will be clearer during the fic.  
> 4\. FYI, I don't support Simon x Markus, nor North x Markus: I support Polycho~! More seriously, they're androids and the concept of love between them is, I think, very different, I'll develop it in the fic, but you know it now, for me, Josh, Markus, North and Simon are all in love.  
> 5\. As a reminder, Markus was shot by Connor.  
> 6\. Maybe it disturbed some readers the use of 'it' for androids, let me explain: in French, when we talk to each other, we have the "vous" which is polite and full of respect, the "tu" is for friends, etc, and yet, Conrad still uses "vous" for Gavin. It was on purpose, something needs to be "broken" in Conrad, you'll understand, but since English doesn't have the equivalent to "vous/tu", I use the "it" to make a difference. I promise, you'll understand!
> 
> Now, **a little bonus for this last fic** , a kind of nod to the game that I reserved for the end.
> 
> You all understand that Chloe wasn't deviant in fact, but as the game offers you to release or keep the Chloe from the menu, I suggest the same thing on a small poll: do you want to release the Chloe that Conrad meet ?  
> [You can vote on this link!](https://www.strawpoll.me/17756880)  
> Whether she becomes deviant or not will not change the story of Gavin and Conrad, but there will be a moment according to your choice. This change will not happen before Chapter 5, so it gives you plenty of time to vote!
> 
> Please remember, **if you want to participate, you have to vote, not mention your choice in comment** (even if you're free to do so!), Because I will consult the link before writing the passage, I won't check the comments on Fanfiction and Archive of our Own.
> 
> On this, enjoy~
> 
> PS: I already wrote the epilogue ♥  
> PS²: I hope you will recognize some characters that you have already met.

Nobody knew their names.

They had fun calling themselves Mary and Anne, Matt and Hilde, Elle and Lena… even Pene and Lope, even when Warren had made fun of them, saying that _penne_ were pasta.

But they did not care: they formed a duo, uniting even in their identity.

It was the first time Monica Miller had been on a field trip with this band: Matt and Hilde, or whatever their names, Coke, Crowdy— She had hesitated to take a nickname, too, but as long as no one called her “the cop’s little sister”, she remained as Monica, imitating Warren’s simplicity.

For the occasion, Matt and Hilde had chosen a place of choice: the penultimate floor of a building in Rivertown, one of the most expensive areas of Detroit, which smelled of luxury. The bay windows looked out over the river and the CyberLife Tower, so bright that night, that it turned the dark swirls into glittering waves. Beyond, the skyline was confused with fairy lights, as attached to a wall of black velvet.

Since when Detroit had become so beautiful? Since it had said goodbye to its edentate neighborhoods because of poverty? Since the crime had gone down thanks to technology, making the city safer? Monica did not know the answer, but she was proud to think that it was thanks to her brother and his colleagues who kept order down here.

With a little smirk, she sipped her Dr Pepper’s can, her lip stung by the bubbles. The sugar made her tongue sticky, but it was so good! That was the taste of freedom: sipping a can on a coffee table that cost more than all the furniture in her room!

Matt was lying on the corner sofa, a model three times taller than standard ones, her legs crossed and her head thrown back, scattering her long white hair as thick as steam. On her thighs, Hilde had rested her neck, wrapping one of her ginger strands around her index finger. They shared a bag of chips, being careful not to leave crumbs.

These Black Cats always squatted where they liked, but they had to leave no trace. That was the rule.

For his part, Warren was sitting on the floor, his back against one of the armrests, and he had even taken off his shoes to be able to relax. He was playing Ubble Bubble on his cell phone, and his toes tapped against the soft carpet. It was always more pleasant than playing at home, deafened by his mother who continued to argue with the neighbor for some odds—

Here, they were young and immortal, untouchable and grandiose. Proud Cats, but not narcissistic, just grabbing the best for a few hours.

What a pity that Crowdy has to study tonight, he could have taken the opportunity to have a good time, but his older brother was watching him closely when exams were near—

Coke had his hands on his hips, standing in front of the library. He read the titles on his back, and in his nods, his ridge shook. Suddenly, he whistled, breaking the silence:

“Holy shit, they’re true SF buffs— K. Dick, Barjavel, Bradbury—” He began to list, then grabbed a volume that seemed heavy, “Asimov, of course!”

Hilde straightened up a little to ask:

“Do they have Kyoko Shunekishi’s autobiography? A Japanese woman who explains how she got into a relationship with her Shi-522?”

Despite the darkness, Monica saw perfectly the long canines of the girl. Black cats to the tips of their nails, or rather teeth, Matt and Hilde had prostheses to lengthen their canines. Some imagined they wanted to look like vampires, but the tattoos on their knuckles did not fool: they invested in this little harmless gang called the Black Cats.

“Shi-522?”

“The equivalent of an AX400 in Japan, I think.”

“Oh yeah, I remember,” Coke whispered, “the critics had accused the writer for being an opportunist, right? By saying that an android couldn’t be homosexual, huh?”

“Lesbians still have a hard time.” Sighed Matt, unraveling the red hair of her girlfriend. “It’s stupid to talk about homosexuality or heterosexuality for androids: their sexual gender is just an appearance, they just fall in love, that’s all.”

As he scanned Asimov’s collection of news, Coke snorted:

“I knew our literature teacher had impressed you.”

“Mrs. Bentley was a fucking visionary! I’ve always loved her!” Matt exclaimed, raising her arms above her head.

She and Coke were the same age and had shared all their schooling: Detroit children who had seen, with marveled eyes, the city being invaded by androids. When they were ten years old, these robots were still expensive, and owning one was like owning an iPhone in 2007. When parents were rich enough to buy an AX200, kids would invite their friends at home to admire the robot, when it was not as successful as its successors. Nothing to compare with an AX400.

“Hold on, I just found the short novel we read for her class. _Segregationist_.”

Coke noticed that the pages had been flaky. The owner had to read this story a good fifty times.

Had Asimov predicted what would happen in 2040?

In this story, old and tired humans were clamoring for metal organs to be powerful and eternal, while androids preferred softer and tender plastic bodies. The human tried a machine, and the machine tried to be human.

The situation had not been different during the revolt, even if more nuanced: the deviants were trying to feel, whether joy or pain, envying how humans were used to these, and in the other way, the human beings envied the absence of fatigue and the so-called eternity of androids, hating them for their effectiveness and resistance.

Would subsequent generations allow harmony to settle? Or would both species continue to envy each other in hatred?

Monica squeezed a cushion against her chest and whispered:

“My brother nearly died during the revolution in November, but the leader spared him. He’s still alive, it proves that androids are able to feel pity and empathy.”

The other Cats did not know this anecdote, and now all were staring at the girl.

She would have become an only child without the RK200’s clemency, and she had begun to worship the android without knowing it, just through Chris’ words. His moving words still echoed in her ears, surprise and admiration mingled in a surprising finding: _they’re alive, Monica, they really are_.

Monica took a deep breath, then opened her mouth to say that Markus should have won the revolt, but she was interrupted by a scary noise: the front door had just unlocked.

“ _Shit._ ” Warren groaned, fingers clutching his phone.

They should not be here.

They stole nothing, they broke nothing, it was true, but they were squatting, like the felines who invite themselves everywhere.

Attentive at the slightest sound, they rose with more or less flexibility. Another Black Cat was maybe in the corner and he could do diversion?

“I thought he was at a fucking meeting?”

“Yeah, he should be!” Hilde hissed, teeth tucked into her lower lip.

The homes they occupied for a few hours were never foreign: before wallowing in sofas, enjoying the view, settling at huge tables, the Black Cats were inquiring about the schedules of occupants. And Mark Spencer’s meeting did not end until midnight. Yet it was barely 9 pm.

The Cats had never assaulted anyone, and none of them wanted to start using strong-arm tactics tonight—

Hilde approached softly, listened and froze: heels slammed in the corridor of the entrance, but another noise was more surprising: a woman sobbed without any restraint.

“ _His wife_.” The ginger Cat whispered.

They remained motionless for a long time, trying to understand what was happening, but the noises were confused. Monica thought she understood that Mrs. Spencer was going back and forth like a damned, spreading her sadness by making her tears vibrant. The apartment was vast, and the high ceilings increased her grief, making it grow in poignant echoes.

“Maybe she won’t pay attention to us—”

Nobody wanted to check on Coke’s hypothesis, and the feet were still stuck on the carpet.

Finally, the sobs calmed down, in the same way that a storm went away.

“Do you think she fell asleep?”

A thump noise contradicted Warren.

Matt began to shake under a terrible impression. She rushed out of the living room, carried by febrile legs, surprising her comrades.

The place seemed safe as the politician’s wife did not cry out, so the other cats also snuck down the hallway before hearing their friend shout:

“Help! Come and help me!”

The white-haired Black Cat was in the room and, in her arms, she was clutching Debra Spencer’s legs, lifting her as high as possible.

The woman had a bathrobe belt around her neck, a pretty sponge rope hanging from a creaked ceiling lamp. Unless it was the cervical that were making this sound?

Coke had the reflex to approach a stool and try to untie the knot. His fingers were shaking so much that he had to do it several times, but below, Matt still held the body, helped by Warren who had become livid.

Monica was frightened, her stomach cramped and her throat tight, unable to take her eyes off the pink band that was sinking under the woman’s jaw.

She suffocated as much, she thought it was she who was committing suicide.

“Fuck, Coke, hurry up!”

Hilde’s hysterical cry made Monica jump, tearing her away from the half-dead body.

On the dressing table, she saw a small sheet of paper curled with tears. The message was brief, but the letters were still shaking with emotion:

_“I can’t stand it anymore. It’s too difficult.”_

Since Mark Spencer had radically changed his opinion about androids, his party had been weakened by departures, the tolerant had been replaced by new minds who did not feel the slightest sympathy for the machines, and now, the politician was seen as the worse bastards. Debra Spencer kept her distance from the political world, but perhaps her husband’s new speeches made her suffer more than they thought?

What had happened?

Why such a rich woman would hang herself in her bedroom?

Once Coke managed to undo the knot, Warren and Matt laid the woman on the bed. Debra Spencer uttered inhuman groans, her eyes swollen with tears: death had tried to seize her, plunging its fingers across her ribs, ready to complete the embrace—

But Hilde was calling for an ambulance, gathering all the chances of survival.

Behind, Monica was biting her lip. Their little outings never happened like that, never. Her parents did not know what she was doing on weekends, but there was a family member who knew her secret, so she took out her cell phone and sent him a message:

_“Chris, I’m sorry. I know I screwed up, but please, there’s something more important: Mark Spencer’s wife tried to commit suicide right now. She left a strange message. If you work tonight, come at 2261, Franklin Street. I’m sorry.”_

Anxious, she rubbed her thumb against her knuckle where two cat paws were tattooed.

Officer Miller would have a lot of work, but he might not be able to protect his little sister for a long time—


	2. RK900

_Four days ago_

 

Outside, the sky of March was confused with one of November. The heavy rain was raging on Detroit, pouring its gray torrents, as cold as the water in the hollow of oceans, beating on bodies made of bricks and solid clay.

The rain in the shower, however, was just like of the tropics: over eighty-five Fahrenheit, from what the skin of the android could measure, and drops were rounder.

“I could stay there for hours.”

“You damn deviant.”

Gavin, his back leaning against Conrad’s chest, was rinsing his hair. His skin was red because of the heat, while the android’s skin remained intact.

“Because I’m becoming lazy?”

“Because you’re fucking scared. Don’t lie to me, I know it.”

The android could not refute that. When they will come out of the shower, they should get ready to go to the CyberLife Tower. The feeling of nausea became, for machines, an effect close to cramps: because of a too important power, the biocomponents were disturbed.

Its artificial skin was, some places, turned off, and the white flesh betrayed signs of anxiety. On its hip, a line of lights flashed in an unusual way, drawing Gavin’s gaze.

“CyberLife would’ve already disabled you if—”

“I’m not afraid of being disabled; I’m afraid of what I’ll discover.”

“Hey, Conrad,” he took a very serious tone, placing his hands against the android’s jaw. Conrad spread his hair, which, weighed down by the water, fell on his forehead. “No matter what you did before you arrived in September: that’s just old life and the new one started when you arrived at the police station. That’s all.”

Gavin pressed his palm against the solid hip, hiding the alarming signs. Then he got out of the shower, leaving the android alone under the water.

Between the dripping water, Conrad could see Gnocchi curled up in the open laundry basket, sleeping on Gavin’s clothes, and also on its own.

It does not matter what happened in the first months of its life; it was this daily that would be its future, and as long as CyberLife granted it, the RK900 did not have to worry.

Conrad eventually went out. It was about to dry itself, when it saw the mirror covered with condensation: a message was written in the steam.

_It will be okay, tin can._

_I love you._

The second sentence was written very small in the right corner, almost crushed by the first encouragement. It was only a small message, but the electric power diminished.

In the narrow letters, the RK900 could see its reflection, its own eyes. CyberLife had given them a very particular color, quite unusual: why choose this shade of steel for a deviant who had the right to integrate?

Conrad remembered that the RK200 also had this particular feature, and it was another creation by Elijah Kamski.

Where was Markus? Had its designer destroyed it? Was it a failed model?

Would Conrad have to prove it was worth it?

The android rebuttoned its shirt more confidently: despite Mark Spencer’s betrayal, Conrad was supported by humans, a benefit that the previous deviants had not had. Gavin was by its side, of course, but there was also the friendship that Chris and Dr. Landru had offered, and that was a constant support. Lukas had even sent a message when he had learned for Spencer, encouraging the RK900 not to let down.

Officer Chen had only apologized to Gavin, shame still keeping her away, but the android would not be surprised the day she would had gathered enough courage to apologize to it, since the desire was not missing.

All of this proved that Mark Spencer was not the only ally.

In fact, his betrayal was stranger than alarming.

For the past three days, Conrad and Gavin had been trying to contact him, but they kept hearing his voice mailbox. Not even an android had picked it up. Were they an unlisted number?

One night, for hours, lying and static, Conrad had tried to find the code of the android secretary, the one they met at the Park, but it had not succeeded. As if that fellow no longer existed.

There was still a chance, yet: Mark Spencer said he had already met Adanna Bontu, so, in an absurd way, Conrad was hoping the professor could have some explanations about the politician’s change of ideas.

When the robot shared this idea in the car, Gavin avoided being that optimistic:

“I don’t know, Conrad: she looks less stupid than she looks, but— it’s still CyberLife. I wouldn’t hope too much, if I were you.”

Conrad lowered the volume of the music to better discuss.

Every time Gavin was nervous, he put too much volume, maybe hoping to muddy the signs of anxiety, like his fast heartbeat, but it never worked.

“What if Bontu becomes an ally? We could be surprised. Look, I wanted to trust Spencer, when he’s finally an asshole.”

“Oh, the RK900 uses cuss words, that means he’s upset,” the human laughed.

He rubbed the android’s shoulder, just to prove that he fully agreed. After all, if Conrad had just called Mark Spencer an asshole for the first time, Gavin had used the curse fifty times, at least. As for ‘motherfucker’ and ‘jerk’, Conrad had lost count since the speech.

“The statistics of social relations are the ones that change most regularly, what I collected leaded me to Spencer before, but everything has changed now. Maybe for Professor Bontu, it will be different—”

“How much do you have for Bontu?”

“There’s 18% reliability.”

“That’s not much.”

“You were at 6% when we met.”

“What?” He could not believe it. “You never told me!”

“Because it didn’t matter.”

“As soon as we met? Why was I so low? That really looks like some discrimination.”

“You kept giving me death stares because I look like the RK800!”

Okay, Gavin abdicated: that was a valid reason.

“And now? How much it is?”

Conrad looked away to the window on its side. The rain blurred the view, diluting streets outside. Because of the dark clouds, the night continued and Detroit was all empty sidewalks and bright buildings.

“I won’t tell you.”

It was not by caprice: it was just impossible for the RK900 to tell. The trust placed in Gavin went well beyond what was granted to others. And Dr. Landru was already at 97%.

The rate attached to the relationship with Gavin had begun to rise the day Conrad lost its leg. The android remembered how the percentages had gone up when the sergeant, still a detective at the time, had carried his partner, without hesitation, right to his car. And statistics had continued to increase when the car had rolled on the bridge. Exactly like this morning, except the statistics had already gone crazy.

“Gavin, thank you for being by my side. And thanks for the message on the mirror.”

Gavin hesitated to joke and tell that the author was Gnocchi, but he changed his mind: now that they were arriving at destination, he was losing all desire to laugh.

The clouds were so low that they blurred the silhouette of the Tower, but with the lights, it possible to measure the importance of the building, all the activity that animated this factory. Mark Spencer may well repeat that machines were lifeless, this tower was a swarm, both mechanical or biological.

It was the third time the RK900 had come back, and as always it was never sure to leave again.

As they had made an appointment, Chloe’s presence at the entrance was not surprising. She greeted them with a joy that seemed authentic.

“Good morning, Conrad. Good morning, Sergeant Reed.”

Even the unknown androids, with their updated base, already called him sergeant. This overconnection was quite frightening, and Gavin was happy that Conrad was able to keep its information for itself, hosting data, without transmitting its own.

The RK900 was ready to greet its fellow back, but it suddenly asked:

“You are not deviant, are you?”

Gavin was almost convinced by the saddened look of Chloe, before noticing that the facial muscles lacked grace and sincerity. He did not know how old the robot was, but he still believed that the RT600 had many more years than the RK900, the old age of androids being measured by their perfection.

“No, I’m not, I’m a machine.”

Conrad suspected it: it just needed this fellow to confirm.

It then held out a white hand, allowing the RT600 to connect.

“We have an appointment with Professor Bontu.”

Chloe placed its palm against Conrad’s.

Their faces were not comparable: the round cheeks and the full mouth were completely static, lacking fluidity compared to the contracted jaw that stirred for a moment, as ready to say something. The big blue eyes stared into space, bright but without expression, while those of the other robot, colder, narrowed with anger.

It was an entire contrast between the obedient machine and the living android.

Then, to Gavin’s surprise, Conrad abruptly broke the connection, pushing Chloe away. It assured the RT600 that they would know where to go in the Tower without its help.

Accustomed to a deviant behavior, the human was expecting the girl to apologize, or even grimace of pain, but in the end, he was disappointed, too: Chloe moved off the path, hands behind its back, a polite smile under its turned-up nose.

Even the LED was blue.

A real machine, just like Connor had been.

Unlike them, Conrad expressed joy, sadness, anger. It had just pushed Chloe away, but Gavin knew it could be more violent, even with another android.

If he did not disapprove, he warned Conrad anyway:

“Don’t break an android, Conrad, I don’t want to know what a quarrel feels like at CyberLife.”

“I’m angry, Gavin. The RT600 is a model that dates back to 2021, yet, I was fooled when it simulated a form of deviance. It could’ve caused my loss.”

Conrad clasped its lips, perfectly imitating human expression.

Gavin did not know if his partner’s rages were similar to his because of their proximity, or if it had been programmed this way. In any case, if the first theory was the right one, it was better not to take Conrad’s hand for the moment—

The android knew the way through Chloe’s directions, so it was following the corridors with a sure step. It was frowning, expression as a warning. Some technicians were looking twice when they were crossing them, checking the inscription on its jacket in time. Beside the mechanical stature, the sergeant was invisible, intriguing only the most observant.

The RK900 paid no attention to them, still feeling that its plastic bowels were undergoing new electrical charges, but not paralyzing enough to make the robot falter.

In the elevator, it was Conrad who finally grabbed Gavin’s hand. The android would be as confident as its partner, since it had always admired the sergeant’s nonchalance, and taking inspiration from him, gathering courage.

They would arrive hand-in-hand in the professor’s office, but Conrad did not care: the designers had made the android able to love, they had endowed it to love, so Adanna Bontu would be the most able to accept their relationship.

As the elevator went up, organs and biocomponents seemed to shrivel up.

“Just remember not to breaking my fingers if you’re mad, okay?”

“You know well that I’ll never hurt you.”

“It’s just in case.”

On the forty-first floor, it was so quiet, they almost doubted offices were occupied, but Conrad turned immediately to the right, heading for the first door where the teacher’s name appeared on a titanium plate next to it.

This detail made Gavin uncomfortable: titanium was the main element for android skeleton, so was it like seeing a bare jaw used as a support? His partner did not show any reaction, but that was did not count as an answer. As loud as he was, the sergeant felt alien to this whole universe, and he had a hard time accepting his role as a mere witness.

He did not know all the courage he inspired in the improved prototype.

Adanna Bontu was sitting at her desk: a marvel of glass and white metal rods, looking more like a throne rather than a table. Her forearms rested on the transparent surface, which could be used as a computer screen, and her hands were crossed on an unlit tablet. She was staring at the bay window where gray fog was stagnating: unlike the other offices, she had not activated the option of artificial decor, preferring to observe how the rain flowed as rivers on the windows.

In a way, one would have thought that she was stubbornly trying to avoid the gaze of the one who was sitting in front of her, a colleague much younger, much smarter, much—

As Conrad opened the door, Elijah Kamski stood up, keeping his hands in his pockets. He wore a t-shirt with the logos of _Love, Death & Robots_, a curious theme for a man at the head of an android company. If he did not bother to greet them, he still gave them a small smile.

Adanna, at least, welcomed them.

Before they settled in, Kamski readjusted his glasses and asked:

“Chloe didn’t come with you?”

“We didn’t need her.”

Just as taller than the father of androids, the RK900 kept its shoulders straight.

“Oh, the RK900 was offended by sweet little RT600?” Kamski was going around the machine to better detail it. Then he patted it on the shoulder. “You’re a true marvel, Conrad, but maybe that makes you a bit narcissistic.”

Gavin was aware that any compliment from the director’s mouth would have nothing sentimental, so there was no jealousy: just a great hostility against this guy whose attitude demeaned Conrad.

The android, meanwhile, remained stoic, looking straight ahead.

“A true marvel?”

“If we must use metaphors, let’s say that Connor was the rough draft, while you, you’re the masterpiece.” The designer pointed at his own eyes, and suddenly a detail appeared to Gavin, who guessed what Kamski was going to add. “I even gave you the color of my eyes, as an artist writes his name on his canvas.”

The icy tint was indeed the same, as piercing as a winter breeze. Conrad touched one of its eyes, as if it was reluctant to leave the organ in place or tear the eye off to get rid of it.

Yet Gavin noted a difference, and it resided in the smile: if Kamski’s was dismissive, Conrad’s was simpler, timider, still it could grow wider in the most beautiful moments, encouraged by the white LED.

Gavin would have liked to remind his partner this, because the creator was still strolling around his creation.

In fact, he felt as if some snake was lurking at his guy—

Finally, Kamski stood in front of the RK900, putting the tip of his index against the middle of Conrad’s chest:

“Your biocomponents are the most advanced, created with an extreme sensitivity that makes them flexible, without removing their resistance.” Then, the finger traveled to the forehead of the android. “But what makes you the most advanced prototype is your endocrine system. Instead of blood-shedding hormones, there’re sets of codes generated through your thirium. And of course, we’ve kept only the best: you’ll never have some thyroid problems.”

His own joke made him sneer, while Adanna Bontu, still silent, searched for a folder on the touch-sensitive desk. The projects around the RK900 were innumerable, but she quickly found the plan of this endocrine system and made it appear in hologram.

Several cables together were reminiscent of a backbone, and at the top, aggregated and connected components were assembled. Some surfaces were smooth, while others were granular because of integrated circuits and microcontrollers.

“We’ve tried to give it the same form as a human endocrine system, so it can integrate your envelope without modifying it, and as in humans, your emotions are not coded only at the level of the head,” Kamski pointed to the long line of cables, and Gavin noticed that other biocomponents were attached to them. “You get a regulator, which would be the equivalent of the thymus, just below, a complex motor to mimic the adrenal glands, and finally,” his finger had reached the lowest level, “one thing that the TR400 would be happy to have and you may not have had the opportunity to use: a biocomponent capable of generating what the hypothalamus and pituitary gland secretes, as a distributor of rewards or punishments, a role close to that of the male gonads.”

“A pair of balls.” Gavin sighed, tired by this scientifically pretentious demonstration. In his language, he called it intellectual masturbation, even if, by dissecting the secrets of the RK900, Kamski had just proved that this system was a true technological revolution.

“Exactly!” The director exclaimed, ignoring the sergeant’s pout. “All this system allows you to feel emotions and desires, Conrad.”

“And I must thank you for this technical exploit.”

“Actually no.” Kamski turned away and his hand reached out to Adanna Bontu. “Professor Bontu is a neurologist who has become familiar with the world of technology. She’s the one you have to thank, because she’s the one who gave all the instructions to offer you this possibility of being able to feel like a human.”

“And that’s what you call deviancy?”

“The word deviancy’s already an obsolete term,” Bontu said, recalling that technology was moving fast. “And it won’t mean anything if androids become free.”

 _If_ , not _when_.

“But you’re not a deviant, Conrad, in the sense that you naturally live the program you have. These’re not bugs; it’s how you function.”

The RK900 thus opened a generation of androids with genuine emotions; an approach that was not going to please at all after the failed revolt, after political changes. And when the media learn that this first model had integrated the Detroit police, many would yell. Gavin was thinking about Fowler.

“And contrary to what you think,” the professor clarified, “your emotions and desires aren’t programmed remotely: we made the groundwork and, as a human being evolves in his environment, you’ve developed yourself forward.”

“We had planned an eight-month experience,” Kamski said, “if in April we had no news, we would have contacted you. And if you were like Connor, you would have been disabled.”

The professor, with a look almost sorry, explained that it was necessary for the RK900 to ignore this project: to have instructions would have guided the android and then, the orders would have canceled the concept of free will.

Conrad had to live by itself, to exist in perfect autonomy. A plan that Kamski had tried with Markus.

The CEO of CyberLife then began to applaud, and the blows sounded too loud in this sober office.

“But don’t worry: you seem to be an extraordinary success, Conrad.”

Since Kamski had returned to his chair, Conrad and Gavin also sat down, watching the two designers, waiting, with all the same, a little anguish.

“I ‘seem’ to be an extraordinary success?”

“We didn’t watch you, because we asked Captain Fowler to do it for us as far as possible. I guess the fear of being a deviant made you discreet, but I also think the captain didn’t keep a close eye—” Kamski shrugged, proving he was not resentful. “To probe your memory would allow us to follow your path, to observe how emotions and thoughts, those outside your main functions, are formed and received.”

Gavin turned pale; if Kamski approached a cable or some computer near Conrad, he would punch him in his long face. It was about his private life too. For its part, Conrad had become rigid and, categorically, refused that its memories could be recovered by CyberLife.

If the director seemed disappointed, the neurologist’s expression was close to— satisfaction. Gavin was not sure to know what it could mean.

The robot remembered every day, from waking up in that tower, its arrival at the police station, to the day before when, with Gavin, they had been chatting with Virginia, giving some news to its mother-in-law. This joke made them laugh all night.

“My memories are complete, I can explain some, but I don’t want them being probed.”

The RK900 expressed a personal wish, a situation that would have been unimaginable under the leadership of Kamski’s predecessor.

“Very well. Then, according to you, from when did you become aware that you were deviant?”

In hindsight, several elements of this deviance were obvious; they had even been fast. As far back as Conrad could remember, the beginnings of its emotions had begun to appear thanks, or rather, because of Gavin. The annoyance, the disappointment, the anger— The android remembered this threat soon after their meeting, this intention to piss it off so much, its program would become degenerate and CyberLife would call the android back to destroy it.

_They always do that with their failures._

If the old Gavin had known—

But Conrad remembered something else, a memory that counterbalanced with those negative emotions.

“I could’ve been a failure, or at least a dangerous android, but someone saved me, some way.” Adanna looked at the sergeant, but Conrad cut off: “No, not Gavin. Her name was Fathia.”

On hearing that name, Gavin hesitated to get up.

The rain was pouring, as strong as the morning they had found her friend’s body, and that vision was still painful.

He had already explained to Conrad that he had never had any feelings of love for Fathia: she was a friend, a very precious friend, and their relationship was based on this pure complicity, leaving no room for jealousy or doubts love could bring.

Today, the RK900 understood what its partner had tried to explain, and maybe that was what it felt for this young woman too.

The android told the designers how Fathia was the first to smile for the android, to be kind. Besides, she had even complimented the RK900 on its eyes.

Conrad also spoke of Dr. Landru, the advices he had given, guiding the android a bit in this complicated world.

“I started with weak points, so the beginnings were difficult— Besides, why did you give me that name? And the appearance of the RK800?”

“Oh, there’re many reasons.” Kamski replied. “The main one was to improve Cyrille Arceneaux’s work. I’ve a lot of admiration for Arceneaux and his android: in terms of resistance, longevity and speed, Connor was definitely the best. This prototype could’ve been great, but it was ultimately a failure. Nobody will remember him—”

“Connor’s the one who interrupted the revolt.” Gavin cut; he and all the policemen would remember Connor, especially as the machine that had caused Lieutenant Anderson’s suicide. “Did you really think it was a good idea to send us that jerk’s lookalike?”

“That’s one of the other reasons.” Kamski did not lose his composure. “The RK800 left a rather strong impression, and the arrival of the successor would leave no one indifferent if the resemblance was well marked.”

“And again, the term successor is incorrect. Conrad, to use Kamski’s expression, Connor served as a draft: you’re different from this model. The RK800 is an intruder in the series of RK, and you give back to this project all its meaning.”

“Why this name?” The RK900 repeated, still trying to understand.

“It’s a perfect name, and the resemblance to Connor’s is just pure coincidence.”

“Really?” Gavin remarked, full of sarcasm.

The android, by dissecting the etymology, replied:

“Conrad is formed from _conja_ , bold, and _rad_ , which means either counselor or assistant. That was your intention?”

“Exactly.”

Gavin remained convinced that there was still an ounce of perversity in this name: with obvious similarities between the RK800 and the RK900, it was clear that the deviance of the new model needed to be triggered without delay.

But these choices had been dangerous: Conrad could have become violent and unhappy if it had remained the target of its colleagues.

His animosity at the beginning would have really caused Conrad’s loss, so—

“And you throw him outside just like that.” Gavin exploded, his shoulders clenched. “There’s nothing more unstable than a human being, and you, you create the most human android before releasing it in the middle of Detroit? Less than a year after Markus’ revolt?”

“No, that’s not what we did,” Bontu replied, “Conrad has had several tests for many months.”

“Between March and August?”

She nodded.

Kamski would have been delighted to restore the memory of the machine, but the RK900 did not want the creator to touch its database. CyberLife had given it free will, and at the same time, Conrad was aware of what was personal.

Unlike her colleague, Bontu decided to explain its past:

“You were activated on March 5, 3039, until formatting on August 27. In the meanwhile, you were confronted with many emotions through several situations. Attachment, anger, jealousy, fun, sadness—”

The android learned that a part of the thirty-third floor had been set up for these tests. A kind of apartment with the bare minimum for a machine: that is to say not much. Conrad had had conversations with authors, artists, politicians, scientists, philosophers— and even other androids, who had suffered some bugs since their talk program was too old compared to the prototype’s.

“Why did you format me? Why couldn’t I keep my memories for the police station?”

Gavin thought that because Captain Fowler would never have welcomed a deviant, but the professor’s answer surprised him:

“Because you fell in love, and we were worrying.”

The thirium pump produced a snap, propelling the blue blood into the veins, iced with surprise.

Conrad did not dare look at its partner, afraid to discover his expression.

“You were rejected, and you started asking yourself questions. We didn’t know how you would evolve, so we preferred to format you.”

Although he was still surprised, Gavin noted an inconsistency: they had formatted the RK900 because it got a knock back, but the entire hostility of a police station was not a problem? Adanna Bontu brought these explanations, and this time, it was Kamski who remained silent.

Did it come from their respective goals? The two colleagues did not seem to agree—

“Who—”

“A team of eight technicians took care of you, testing your programs. Among them was Lily Eaton.” The name did not recall anything: its memory had been carefully emptied. “And you had developed a great affection for her.”

Conrad avoided looking at Gavin, but he noticed that the LED was red. Despite the presence of the two designers — the weirdest parents one can have — he approached to put his hand against its back, pressing his palm against a stature he feared to see collapse.

“He fell in love because she had sequestered him in a closet?”

Bontu stared at him with big eyes; Kamski could not understand this joke either, but Conrad’s LED turned yellow, and a smile preceded a laugh.

“A closet? What, no— Well, in short, Eaton took the project very seriously, and she often spoke with Conrad. You spoke for weeks. She even cut some recordings when the subjects became too personal: you learned a lot about her family, her friends and love disappointments. We found them in your memory only, never on recordings.”

“What happened then?”

“You showed a preference to work with her. Of course, we were delighted: it meant that your social program had developed affinities and you were free to express your sympathy or, on the contrary, your dislike.”

From where he was sitting, Kamski could watch as the sergeant’s hand went down to the android’s waist, how the contact soothed the signs of nervousness, and most of all, the complicity between the two. The RK900 was a success, but he wanted to grasp the full extent of this, forgetting that by creating an independent being, he could no longer ask it to give account afterwards—

“Of course, we hoped you felt something stronger, but there’s a difference between the possibility and the _fait accompli_. The fact that you fell in love bothered some team members, starting with Eaton, of course, who had not imagined being—”

“The target of this affection,” Conrad added, a bit bitter, “she was going to be part of the experiment and it was out of the question.”

“Exactly.”

Beyond the refusal to live a relationship observed by colleagues, the professor tried to gently bring a delicate point: Lily Eaton had rejected the RK900 because it was a machine. Bontu still remembered the vehemence of the collaborator: from that day, the android was an object again, a purely artificial intelligence, and nothing else.

 _Its feelings can’t be real. These’re fucking codes! It’s a_ machine _!_

The RK900 had never witnessed this explosion of anger, but Eaton had left the project and, therefore, no longer saw the android always in love. Of course, the RK900 had finally knew what had happened.

Gavin understood this woman’s doubts: he had them too, just as he had been stunned by the idea that an android could feel anything but blind loyalty. Accepting this possibility was accepting to change one’s vision of robots, to recognize that the mistreated machines were maltreated beings, to realize that this creation was going to escape human control.

Yet, his hand still supported his partner; no doubt remained, so he had no desire to depart.

“You’re that bad at flirting, that’s why you get knocked back.”

Conrad appreciated each attention of comfort: it was what the android needed, and Gavin proved that he was staying by its side.

Kamski spoke suddenly:

“I’ve noticed something interesting when you came in: you were holding Sergeant Reed’s hand, should we understand that you’re both more than just friends?”

The android was waiting for the human agrees, but the latter shrugged his shoulders: obviously, the RK900 and he were guinea pigs.

“Yes, we are.”

“And you don’t want to recover the parts of your memory that concern Lily Eaton? Now that Sergeant Reed’s here, these memories may be more bearable?”

Bontu winced, her eyes lowered to her hands that were no longer crossed on her desk.

“Besides, she also has dark hair with gray eyes. It seems you get a weakness for these characteristics.”

Conrad kept silent, thinking. As Gavin had said, what had happened before September belonged to another life; the one the android was building now had no place for Lily Eaton, or any other member of the team.

When Conrad had confessed its feelings to Gavin, it had promised to resign itself to its fate if its colleague pushed it away. Moreover, his hatred of machines had been the main cause of such pessimism. And against all odds, Gavin had given the RK900 a chance; lucky that Eaton had not granted the robot. This difference cancelled, according to its statistics, any risk that its feelings resurface.

But the notion of fidelity can be particular for an android.

Gavin also felt a certain unhealthy curiosity, the same one that gives the need to learn more about a partner’s ex. But in the end, what was he going to do? To compare himself to a laboratory worker he knew nothing about?

Nonsense.

Still, he hoped that Conrad would refuse—

“I don’t want to recover my memory. I don’t want to remember Lily Eaton. This was certainly a difficult situation for her, and there’s no point for remembering. I prefer to focus on my future. Other people became important to me.”

The professor raised her eyebrows with a small admiring smile.

“Maybe I was wrong.” Kamski raised his hands, imitating a gesture of defeat. “I assumed you didn’t have the opportunity to try your sexual functions, but I may have judged a little fast.”

This time he spoke to Gavin:

“Have you fully tested the relationship?”

Kamski was not only scornful with androids; he was with everyone. By founding CyberLife, he had improvised himself as the leader of a new era.

If it was not wrong, he still lacked the humility of a genuine Moses.

Gavin had just remembered that Kamski was the same age as him, while nothing brought them closer, both physically and professionally.

It was just a little gifted babe into his own world, thought the policeman, but now that he was invited into this universe, Gavin would not deprive himself to say his way of thinking.

He remembered the evening when, after Conrad confessed its feelings, he had been looking for academic articles on androids, looking for the ultimate answer: could the machines fall in love? He was sure that his relationship with the RK900 was worth all that research. He was sure he knew Conrad better than its designers. Yes, they had created its endocrine system, but the android had developed by itself, by _his_ side.

Gavin remained silent for a few seconds, before bursting out laughing, delighted to break the director’s assurance by retorting:

“How do you want us to test anything? Conrad tries to turn off whenever his programs are overheating.”

Gavin began to list a few shortcomings, such as Conrad’s inability to talk to him like a close friend [(1)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18381662/chapters/44762548#chapter_2_endnotes), but there was nothing demeaning in his words: it just confirmed that Gavin did not see an intimidating prototype, a masterpiece, but a being with its weaknesses and its imperfections, a robot that had to free itself from some constraints.

“It’s curious—” the creator whispered. “But after all, it was a problem we did not attend last year.”

“Why do I still feel like an assistant to Gavin?”

Kamski thought for a moment, but Bontu spoke before him:

“I think Sergeant Reed manages to see you as an equal: you’re neither superior, nor inferior. But you, because of your natures, you lower yourself in front of humans in general. Some codes may be too rigid—”

The RK900 remained a prototype that had to be improved, but unlike previous models, Elijah Kamki had judged that the most recent creations could be perfected before moving on to successors.

“It’ll be easy to adjust.”

So they were going to operate Conrad.

The officer glared at the creator, wondering how he could be sure that the memory of the RK900 remained untouched. He doubted that the android remains on during the update—

“We’re going to need a day or two, so you can go back home, sergeant.”

Gavin was about to refuse, when someone knocked on the door. Chloe was standing in the doorway, its summer dress clashed with steel dawn, just as its smile did not get along with the sudden tension.

“I’m sorry, Elijah: the PJ500 has just connected to the RK200. I had to warn you.”

Gavin had the impression of being the only one to speak no more the same language; Conrad looked surprised but not ignorant, while Kamski smirked at the professor.

“What a coincidence.”

“The RK200 is your creation, Elijah, you better go check it. I can take care of Conrad.”

Her hands were crossed again on the tablet.

Since he had no choice, Kamski nodded at the prototype and the sergeant, then followed Chloe.

As the door closed, the professor rose, her features less tense. From the corner of its eye, Conrad noticed that the table, with its tactile surface, only indicated the weather and the time: the few files had been closed.

The android would not say anything, but it suspected why Kamski had spoken of a coincidence.

“Elijah has no bad intentions,” she said, settling on one of the chairs in front of the desk, getting closer to her two guests. “He’s young—”

“Don’t try that with me: he’s also going on his forty years.”

“I meant that he has always been isolated.”

Gavin sighed. That fucking cliché of genius without social skill.

“Yeah, sure, what’s the big deal? Asperger’s? Autism? Any other explanation to make us excuse his asshole behavior, right?”

“All the companies are sort of worlds apart, and even though Kamski founded CyberLife, he still has a hard time accepting the fact that— his own world escapes him. We can’t create intelligent and perfect beings just like that: ethical concerns have existed since the founding of the company, social conflicts, but Kamski doesn’t attach any importance to it.”

“Basically, you’ve a narcissistic kid for boss.”

Bontu looked down. She must have been over sixty, yet wrinkles were rare on her neutral face. Her jewels brought a little light around her dark wrists, but any excess wealth was hidden by the black sleeves. How many scarves did she have? The one she was wearing today was iridescent, varying between blue, green, and turquoise, different from the others she had already worn.

Adanna Bontu, with her shaved head, was less conventional than it appeared, but Gavin thought her as more professional, more impressive than the true CEO of CyberLife.

Maybe because she looked like a mother?

Conrad leaned toward her, elbows on its lap.

“I’ve another question, professor.” Gavin guessed in advance what was tormenting his partner. “We met the politician Mark Spencer a few days before his new speech.”

“Oh—”

“He told us you’ve met a few times. Do you know him well?”

All CyberLife was, of course, aware of this change of position, but Bontu did not know that the RK900 had met this man.

“I’ll tell you the same thing, Conrad: I only met him a few times. Mark Spencer had no bad intentions, but he did it badly: we can’t claim freedom for androids without knowing a minimum about technology. Deviance has never been a bug,” she said, “all the androids that became deviant were designed at the time Kamski was at CyberLife, they were programs that were developing, less complete than yours, but which can still cause the same feelings.”

“And did Spencer change his mind because of that?”

“I don’t know.”

Conrad was disappointed: the last thing they could do was go to a physical meeting with the politician.

“I talked more with a member of his party, the philosopher Riley Webb. An interesting woman, but she only takes care of the social side.” She joined the tips of her fingers. “You mustn’t take it badly, Conrad, but we can anthropomorphize androids, not humanize them. It’s selfish to think that way.”

“I don’t take it badly, since I don’t want to become human, professor, I’m an android and I want to remain one. I just want to exist as a free being.”

“Then it’s a thing you’ve to remind Webb. You can try to meet her at RoboTech, she’ll be there.”

“The technology show in Port Austin?”

It was crazy when Gavin thought about it: when he was a kid, Port Austin was a little graying beach one hundred twenty miles from Detroit, not even warm enough to attract enough families during the summer.

The year in which CyberLife was founded had marked the expansion of this piece of coast: the city was still young, but the buildings had grown as fast as mushrooms in rainy weather, and a convention center had been built, facing to the waves, brilliant of modernism. And for eleven years, the huge halls hosted marvels of technology, bringing together specialists and amateurs to a show called RoboTech.

The next edition will take place in about ten days.

“Yes. Riley Webb has been invited, and even if she left Spencer’s party, she’ll deliver her speech in favor of androids, whether Spencer likes it or not.”

“And Spencer won’t be there, I suppose.”

“This is unlikely— That said, they have planned a surprise guest, advised by Webb, but no one knows who it is for the moment.”

Conrad glanced at Gavin: it was an opportunity they could take advantage of. If the philosopher had supported the politician when he was still on the side of robots, she certainly knew him better than Bontu.

The RK900 turned back to its designer.

“And you? What do you think?” It was still suspicious, Spencer’s betrayal in mind. “Kamski is going into making autonomous androids, as I understand, while wanting to keep control over it. Is it the same for you?”

“I accepted the fact that androids have to develop on their own _._ ” _Like a mother who lets her children go._ “When we talk about deviancy, or more precisely about freedom, people immediately think that androids will take advantage of it to kill humans, whether they’re their master or not. Some androids have killed, yes, but many more have shown empathy. Thanks to deviancy.”

She unfolded her teeth in an amused smile: the irony was to her liking.

“I’m a scientist, Conrad, by definition, I’m curious, and of course I like to know if my work has been done well.”

Her gaze lingered for a moment on the sergeant’s knee, which touched the robot’s, satisfied with this unconscious contact.

“When Eaton turned you off, you became— melancholic, sometimes aggressive, but never violent. It was I who made the decision to format you.” Gavin was right, then. “I don’t know if it was good or not, maybe I didn’t have the right to take away those memories from you, because that implies control over you— but I think ultimately it was best. For all.”

“It hasn’t always been easy,” confessed Conrad with a smirk.

“Emotions and relationships aren’t easy, it’s a fact. Some philosophers even think that it’s cruel to give the possibility to feel. That said, I think a majority of androids would contradict them.”

“I would be part of them.” After a pause, Conrad made its decision: “You can take care of me, as long as Gavin stays. I’m an android and the law doesn’t recognize any right to privacy for me, but Gavin has one. If you or Kamski try to take things from my memory, he’ll file a complaint.”

Nor did Gavin have enough confidence: the neurologist’s words were more convincing, but they could belong to a manipulative strategist. Conrad’s warning was, however, quite effective and, after all, the decision belonged to the android.

A doubt persisted, and Gavin went forward:

“If you change the Conrad codes, won’t there be a risk that it changes him too much?”

“For the safety of humans, you mean?”

Gavin apologized to the android, but the latter fully understood his concern.

“If there’s a risk, we’ll come back to an earlier version.”

Everything seemed so simple, presented this way—

With more modesty than her colleague, Adanna added:

“And we’ll deal with this problem of— overheating.”

 

The linoleum remained quiet under the wheels of the cart. The floor was so smooth that the tools, in the stacked boxes, did not even jingle, the steel sleeping in the cartons. Darren passed one of the rooms he was responsible for, but did not stop there, called by other tasks before.

Luckily, there were no witnesses in the hallway of the hospital: his LED had a little red blink that would have attracted attention.

The model looked straight ahead, obstinate to seem indifferent. It was hard to pretend to be an empty carcass when, on the same floor, the traitor’s wife was resting.

Darren was an MC700, commissioned three years ago, who had spent his entire life in the Henry Ford Hospital. He did not take care of the obstetric part; at the level of curiosity, he had only witnessed human death, when the patients could no longer fight, becoming the witness of many griefs and sorrows.

It was a subject that had left him indifferent for a long time, and if the patients were only foreigners who rarely spoke to him, for the first time, he really wanted the death of this new one.

He had seen the marks on Debra Spencer’s throat, but those purplish lines were now harmless. Darren had thought of placing his own fingers in the exact spot where the rope had begun to tighten, but no one would have believed in suicide, especially since a police officer would arrive to ask questions to the victim—

The cart came into the premises, and he parked it behind a shelf. There were so many tools, so many products. Accidents still happened in hospitals, machines could have bugs—

No, he had to give up: killing Debra Spencer, it was a way of committing suicide.

Midnight was a sad hour: there, he began to evaluate his own life in the darkness of the local, wondering if he really wanted to cling to this existence punctuated by ends. His mechanical colleagues were lifeless machines, giving him no comfort.

No one would miss him, but his act would be hailed by the deviants who were hiding through the city.

Echoes of voice attracted his attention.

“— have to stop this, Monica, you can’t continue squatting in people’s houses with your friends!”

“If we hadn’t been there, she’d be dead!”

“Don’t even try to use this excuse with me.”

Darren walked slowly to the door, eager as he did not want to just hear. He saw a dark police uniform, and as the time was right, he guessed it was probably Officer Chris Miller. In front of him, a young girl kept her arms crossed, which highlighted a phalanx where two cat’s legs were tattooed.

“I hope you didn’t touch the message that Spencer’s wife left—”

“No, we didn’t!”

“Anyway, you probably left lots of prints back there. Do you realize how— how it’s fucked up?”

Of course she knew it, but she would not let it go: their petty crimes had prevented an unhappy woman from killing herself.

Monica’s eyes were swollen: since she had sent him message, she had not stopped crying. The backlash made her haggard, and she shuddered in that pale hallway. Matt, Hilde, Coca and Warren were also in shock, but they had the chance to go home.

It hurt Chris, but he could not help himself to think that, at least, that group was not going to make another trip for a while.

But come on, they were just kids.

Chris sighed and finally took his little sister in his arms.

“You’re already in shock, so we’ll talk about it later. Go home, rest and, above all, don’t tell mom anything.”

Monica nodded, and she felt cold again when Chris moved away, but duty called.

The girl watched him walk away, until the door of a room opened on her left: a medical android, tall, dark skinned, went out and nodded to her. She answered his greeting, while she kept biting on her lips.

The fact that the android followed the same path as his brother reminded her of a painful memory: the one she had almost lost Chris during a riot of robots.

“Chris!”

Surprised, the android almost turned around too, but he continued his way, glancing indifferently at the policeman who asked his sister what was going on

“I’m sorry. Thank you for everything you do. I love you, brother.”

“Don’t even try.” The pointed fore fingered contradicted the smirk: he was not angry anymore.

The uniform was trying to maintain a semblance of intimidation, but the officer seemed so soft. Darren slowed down to greet him.

“Officer Miller?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll take you to Mrs. Spencer’s room, follow me, please.”

The door slid down with a respectful silence: everything invited to rest and calm. Thanks to the machines that monitored the vital signs, the nurses did not interrupt the sleep of their patients anymore, allowing them to enjoy a real respite.

Debra Spencer kept her eyes closed, when she was not asleep. She persisted in no longer seeing the world around her, divided between the regrets of being still alive and the joy of having been saved in time, even if she did not know who she owed her salvation.

Darren approached a chair near the bed, allowing Chris to settle down. The policeman pulled out a small tablet and a stylus marked with the coat of arms of the police station: he was not going to write, but to launch recording applications.

Before, the MC700 said with solemnity:

“For medical reasons, I’m obliged to stay with Mrs. Spencer, but according to the code of ethics, all the information that will be exchanged between you and the patient, as long as they have no medical reason, will not be processed through my programs and will be erased from my base.”

Darren had pronounced the settlement with such confidence that it was impossible to detect the lie: obviously he would record everything, that he would note any response from the traitor’s wife. They might help him make a decision about her future—

Chris stared at him for a moment, and then thanked him.

“Of course, thank you.”

The tip of the stylus brushed against the touchpad, and the app started.

“Mrs. Spencer, I’m Officer Chris Miller. Can you talk?”

Her eyes were still shut, while the corners of her mouth sagging. He asked the android if she could have a glass of water, although she did not make any request, but even with the cup on the bedside table, Debra Spencer did not loosen her lips.

It would be a long night without answer—

 

The weather was sunny now. The programs were readjusting, updating themselves: it was March 13, 2040, and it would soon be nine o’clock in the morning. Other information circulated in his veins, so fluid the processing gave an impression of lightness. The shutdown had been deeper than the few hours of mechanical sleep he needed every month, but to his delight Conrad noticed that all his memories were in place, clear and, he was sure, still his own.

On his back, he felt the pleasant touch of a mattress covered with cotton, and on the skin of his stomach, a sheet. He straightened up and saw that he was in a sort of studio, stripped of the slightest trace of superfluity: in front of the bed stood a single table, and leaning on the edge, Gavin was drinking a coffee, reading on his cell phone.

“Gavin?”

A detail made him smile: on his shoulders, the sergeant had his white jacket, much too broad at the shoulders.

“You fucking thief.”

“Woah, hey, I was cold and you didn’t need it!” He got up to sit on the edge of the bed. Gavin looked tired, perhaps because of the stress of the last days. In fact, it was not that cold, but the lack of sleep made him chilly.

“Where are we?”

“In the apartment where you discussed so many times with this Lily.”

“Ah— it’s early in the morning and you’re already so jealous?”

Gavin shrugged, but burst out laughing. He ran his hand over his partner’s shoulder, suspecting a change: by chance, Conrad was still himself.

“Did you stay there all four days?”

“Gnocchi needs me, but— yeah, I tried to stay as much as I could. So? Am I your equal, now?”

Conrad grabbed the sides of the jacket: there were days when he could not bear it anymore, hating it, yet seeing it on the sergeant’s shoulders made him change his mind. If, or rather, when androids are free, he will not throw it away.

“You’ve always been, but I couldn’t express it.”

He kissed his cheek. A revival raised new sensations, warmer, unless it was the joy associated with relief?

He still existed as Conrad.

“Bontu assured me that you’d be on during this morning, so I arrived a few hours ago and she wasn’t mistaken.”

Was Kamski here? He had participated in the update of the prototype, yes, but the neurologist had sent the warning and his creator had given up probing his memory.

Gavin nibbled on his lower lip, then mumbled:

“Conrad, I have something quite— weird to tell you.”

“What happened?”

“Mark Spencer’s wife tried to commit suicide last night. All media are talking about it.”

“Spencer said something already?”

“Not yet, all the journalists are waiting for tonight.”

That was why the sergeant seemed so concerned. This gesture intrigued the android.

“We need to meet Riley Webb at the next RoboTech, Gavin. We have to go.”

“Of course we’ll go, it wasn’t already obvious?”

On the laptop screen, Conrad noticed that Gavin was reading the program of the show. The event would take place from March 16 to 18, the time of a weekend. There would be demonstrations of the latest models of cars, household robots other than androids— a stand would even be reserved for Margaret, the only android in the world to have no distinctive sign, making it look like a young woman capable of blend in with a human crowd. This peculiarity made it only activated on rare occasions, and always closely monitored.

Gavin touched, distractedly, the LED of his partner: once back home, away from CyberLife, he would propose to the RK900 to go to RoboTech as a human being. Conrad would hide his LED and wear the clothes he wants for a whole weekend.

Admittedly, this disguise reminded them of their meeting with Samuel Brooks, the mass murderer of the subway, but it was the coincidence that had almost been fatal, not the lure itself. And then, the RK900 could not walk this conference center freely.

“We still don’t know who this mystery guest is?”

“No, some rumors say it’s an artist, but they want to keep its identity hidden until the end.”

The android shrugged: after all, it was not this guest that interested them, it was the philosopher.

“We’ll try to clear that up, Conrad. If Spencer’s wife tried to commit suicide a few days after his speech, it’ll give him bad publicity and it’ll convince more people to side with the androids.”

“And this is an android specialist who speaks.” Conrad nodded, winking at him.

Gavin let out a sneer as he put his hand on his thigh:

“Bontu and Kamski may be robotic aces, in the meantime, I’m the one who lives with you, and I’m sure I know you better than them, I know the deviants better and I think you’ve the right to be free.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Okay, that was difficult to translate.  
> As a reminder, I always write my fics in French, then I translate them without thinking how I'll manage to do it. In French, we can use "tu" or "vous". "Tu" is for friends, family, loved ones. The "vous" is professional and polite.  
> In French, we don't have "it" for androids (knowing that the objects are gendered in my native language, heh), so I kept it to replace this difference (even if I know it bothers some readers).  
> Until now, Conrad had always used the "vous" for everyone, even Gavin (and I tell you, it's veeery weird, today in France to use "vous" for a lover).  
> Since I couldn't mark this change, I marked it with the pronouns.  
> I hope it's clear and I'm sorry: the difference is really made in the French version, but the English one... heh. I tried my best.  
> But for now: Conrad is "he" and other deviants aren't "it".


	3. Professional misconducts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last time, I totally forgot to show you a new commission made by MayFireYana! [Have Conrad with Christopher Landru right here~](https://samsevenwrites.tumblr.com/post/184434465889/may-fire-yana-commissioned-by-samsevenwrites)

Christopher Landru was watching Moira as the android opened the body bag, but even though he scrutinized the round face, Moira’s expression was perfectly neutral: there was no disgust when the bag revealed a burnt corpse, or anger because of Mark Spencer’s speech.

Androids’ hopes of being recognized as autonomous individuals had vanished, but the KL400 remained impassive, not expressing any opinion. This machine neutrality was the opposite of Conrad who, Landru thought, was going through a stressful time. Could anxiety affect a mechanical body? Was the RK900 also tired of this endless winter?

With the KL400’s help, Landru cleared the operating table, removed the bag, and held a cough. He hated charred bodies: ash particles would roam for hours in the morgue.

“You should wear a mask, doctor.”

“You’re right,” he opened a drawer, took out a mask, and passed the handles behind his ears, “I wanted to get ready for the barbecue season, but that’s not reasonable.”

She laughed, revealing her little white teeth, much prettier than those of the dead, that were gray and black with soot. Her smile, on the other hand, seemed as fixed as that of the skull.

The bones of a body burnt to such a degree became as friable as autumn leaves, though the odor was much stronger, much headier. Landru was trying to put up with his mask: he felt nauseous since this morning, and the obstacle to breathe made his stomach more capricious.

“Moira, can you put some music, please?”

His assistant went to the computer.

Once, she had played a playlist full of Loreena McKennitt from her mouth, but Landru had asked her not to do it again ever: a static mouth could not release sounds, it was too— disturbing.

The loudspeakers, hanging over the shelves, began to play Celtic songs, the kind of hymn that can make the rain loveable, the only difference being that the one in Detroit beats black sidewalks rather than green plains.

Landru had always been fond of Celtic music, and Moira’s flaming hair made him feel like he had teleported to Dublin. The harp inspired to be delicate with the dead on his table, to take time above this state now constant.

“You seem a bit livid, doctor, is everything okay?”

“I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Winter was long, way too long, and the politician’s speech had disrupted the public opinion, making the people of Detroit nervous. They no longer knew whether they should regret or rejoice that the revolt had failed, whether they could sympathize with the robots or, on the contrary, fear them. When a voice declared loudly that security was threatened, all the people trusted it.

Maybe tomorrow an astronomer would ensure that a meteorite would fall on Earth in less than forty-eight hours—

It had not been just a speech: the words Spencer had used were strong, words as unstable, dangerous, foreign, alarming— According to him, the strength and tenacity of an android would make it a predator for the human being, and the emotion, if it could exist, would be as harmful as the lack of empathy. Those who had brutalized their PL600 or AX400 lived with the threat of revenge, those who had visited the Eden Club could pay more than twenty dollars their hour of enjoyment.

Then, laws and absolute control over the artificial intelligence guaranteed humanity’s tranquility.

This kind of fright had no shade, and as Landru was standing in the clearer side, he was not worried: could he really fear the androids when he knew about Gavin and Conrad? When the doctor had sent his support, he had addressed it to both the android and the sergeant. Because, if the RK900 was to be deactivated with other robots, at the request of of Detroit’s people, Gavin would lose someone dear.

The harp rained its melancholy notes, sending them echoing against the almond green tiles. Imitating the same gentleness, Landru moved the limbs, assessing whether parts were less charred than others. The ash was gray against the black bones. There was nothing left of the hair, the eyes, or the features of the face. As for the organs, it would be a miracle to find one still recognizable.

The doctor straightened up and slid the mask under his provided beard, turning away to swallow a big gulp of air.

Moira approached and put her hand on his back, frowning.

“You don’t feel well, doctor. Lack of sleep is dangerous, it’s better for you to go home, take a nap.”

“We must finish this case, Moira.”

Christopher Landru went back to work, ready to ignore the headache that began to hammer his skull.

In his instructions, he confused a few words, and he did not notice them until his assistant pointed it out to him.

Suddenly, Moira asked him:

“Dr. Landru, what day are we?”

“It’s— it’s the 14th of October.”

“What year?”

“2021.” He answered with aplomb, before losing his balance.

Moira’s LED went red. She sent a message of urgency: the nearest hospital must send an ambulance right away.

She was quick enough to catch the doctor, which prevented him from tipping over the table where there were several sharp instruments. Landru was still conscious, and he did not understand why the room had tipped over. A pain tore his chest and, soon, he could not see what was around: lights, colors, sounds—

Everything disappeared.

 

Chris knew that Gavin would ask him about Debra Spencer.

It was just a little investigation: a suicide attempt did not always become a police case, but there was a home invasion, on top of that, it was Mark Spencer’s wife. The media was watching the case closely, and the police had become, despite, a source of information.

In a brief statement, Fowler had assured that it was a suicide attempt, not a murder, and especially not one foment by androids. Had the victim interrupted her gesture on her own, or had she been helped? For the moment, the captain kept this detail confidential.

After all, he himself knew nothing of this safety, and he knew even less that among the squatters was the little sister of the police officer on the case.

Chris had taken all the prints in the apartment with two robots, but now, he did not know what to do. The samples had been saved, carefully stored in the PM700’s memory.

Normally, these Black Cats occupied homes leaving so few traces the real occupants did not notice a cushion just moved, or a chair just pushed back. The Black Cats did not steal, did not break anything and, as minors, they did not fear much about Justice, but Monica had been covered by her brother for months: he had cumulated professional misconducts, and today, he hesitated between giving up everything and receiving his blame, or weighing down his crime and trying to be more vigilant to still avoid suspicion.

In short: he was the one who risked the biggest.

“Chris?”

Gavin was sitting on the edge of his desk, realizing that his colleague had not heard him.

“So? Tell us.”

“I’ll tell you the same thing I said to Fowler, Gavin: Debra Spencer didn’t want to talk to me. I don’t know if it really comes from her injuries or if she’s lying—”

The sergeant exchanged a look with the RK900, disappointed too.

“Then she couldn’t call the hospital or the police station. Do you know who did?”

“No, I don’t.” The officer muttered, aware that his signs of nervousness were certainly being recorded by the android. “For now, we’re waiting for the results of the samples. Listen, I’m exhausted, I’m under the weather because of everything that’s happened lately—”

“Like we don’t feel the same.” Gavin added.

Mark Spencer’s answer, about what had happened the day before, had disappointed everyone: true to his character, he had assured that he would take care of his wife, that he would watch over her, specifying however that the reasons for her act belonged to their private life, so he would not divulge anything more.

As for Debra, if the message she wanted to leave was not yet known to the public, it was so ambiguous that Chris did not know if it was an important element or not.

At Conrad’s request, he still agreed to show the pictures taken in Spencer’s room on the night of the tragic event, and Conrad later downloaded them to keep them in his memory.

“Her message could mean everything and nothing.” Gavin sighed, and Conrad, even if he read it again, agreed.

_“I can’t stand it anymore. It’s too difficult.”_

The RK900 was only sure about one thing: this complaint proved that Debra Spencer wanted to die right after, so it was another person who had managed to free her from the rope. Still, he did not suspect the help of several stakeholders.

Without a word, Chris went back to work, fearing new questions from his colleagues.

Through the bay windows, the rays came to plunge into the police station, bringing a different light than that of a few months ago: more lively, warmer, it brought longer days and promised milder temperatures. Conrad had noticed those shades, how they rocked humans, and he was happy to be sensitive to it too. Unless it comes from its update?

He had just settled to his office, leaving Gavin to get his first coffee in the afternoon, and while the sergeant was moving away, Conrad stared at his back and buttocks. They had not verified yet what progress CyberLife had made, but there will be plenty of opportunities tonight.

At least, they were now equal, even for the android’s programs. Conrad had imagined feeling some guilt, perhaps reminiscent of his affection for Lily Eaton, but this stiffness had disappeared.

To deceive his impatience, Conrad set a countdown that would drop to zero at 7 p.m., then refocused on his tasks. Amongst the statistics and calculations, some questions were forming, the first being: why did the person call the police?

It did not matter who the witness was: the person who had saved Debra Spencer could have just called an ambulance. What more could the police have done? Why break in and call the police station? Was it really Debra Spencer? But then, why refuse to talk to the officer?

He was still looking for an explanation, when Gavin came back, ready to work, too.

Conrad sat up suddenly, the LED red.

“Gavin, we have to go to the hospital.”

“What? Why?”

Gavin was surprised: Conrad looked devastated.

“I just got a message from Moira, Dr. Landru’s assistant: he had a stroke.”

Gavin also became livid, and for a moment, he was unable to move, unable to speak.

He managed to articulate:

“Is he—?”

“I don’t know. He was still alive when the ambulance arrived.”

These accidents were not as dreadful as in the past: the speed of care has reduced the risk of death by nearly 80%, but the after-effects still represented a well-established reality.

Gavin was reluctant to go: he had always known Landru voluble, enthusiastic, immense— He was not sure of having the courage to hear bad news, but the sergeant finally abdicated: his partner did not leave him much choice, anyway.

 

The automatic doors opened, emitting that little noise that sounded like breathing, like a square mouth that would take inspiration to swallow the visitors, but Gavin wanted to resist. Arms crossed, he hoped to calm the anxiety that twisted his bowels.

Landru had always spoken of death without fear, even if he had seen how it could change all carcasses. He had spent years autopsying what had once been human and had been transformed by decay, cold, and ugliness, giving a neutral look at the bloated and flabby bodies, taking care of empty shells.

In the end, maybe he sympathized too much with the Reaper and it had come to get him?

“Do you want me to go and ask how he’s doing?” Conrad offered, but Gavin shrugged.

“They’ll tell you nothing.” _Because you’re an android._ “Just— give me a few minutes, ok?”

After taking a deep breath, he grabbed Conrad’s sleeve and managed to cross the threshold, but only by his side.

In the hall, a stretcher pushed by an android cut their way; an emergency called the nurse elsewhere in the vast hospital. The hostesses of the reception were, on the contrary, static, as if the establishment knew a peaceful daily life. And when the sergeant inquired about his friend, it was with a compassionate smile that the android replied:

“Mr. Landru’s still in the operating room.” _Mister_ Landru _._ In face-to-face with death, he was no longer a doctor. “But his chances of survival are very encouraging. Are you family of friend?”

This question gave rise to painful evidence: Gavin knew nothing of the private life of the coroner.

“Friend. You contacted his family, already?”

“I’m sorry, sir, this is confidential information.”

Fuck, machines did not mess with rules.

They were still allowed to wait until the end of the surgery, but for Gavin, it was out of the question to stay in the waiting room. The benches were occupied by modern facially disfigured war veteran: a woman was holding her jaw, blood crusts imitating the lipstick on her mouth. Behind her, a child was holding her arm in a makeshift scarf, dried tears on her cheeks. Further on, an old man was applying a bag of ice against his knee, his hands still shaking because of shock.

Seeing all these patients, Conrad approved his partner’s decision:

“I understand: it’s hard to bear.”

“No, it’s because I want to smoke.”

The garden near the entrance was still less oppressive. Gavin leaned his back against a tree and lit his cigarette, his arm almost mechanical. His thoughts made him absent, as if, tired of all these fears, his brain had decided to disconnect.

“These are models that are programmed to reassure,” Conrad explained, speaking of the hostesses, “but they’re not here to lie.”

“If he dies, he’s the worst of the dumbasses—”

Conrad put his shoulder against the hard bark, not caring about the closeness between the sergeant and him. If these last months at the police station had taught him anything, it was that people were blind, refusing to admit that such a relationship is possible between humans and androids.

“He likes life too much to give up like that.”

“Conrad, we don’t really choose when we—”

“I think you can, for some occasions, though.” He took Gavin’s fingers, caressed to his wrist. “Humans have this curious contrast, both fragile and strong. In fact, the body’s fragile, but the spirit’s solid. I’ve the impression that if androids have a more resistant build, we don’t have such a strong will.”

“Do you mean that we complete each other?”

“I like this idea, yeah.”

Conrad’s LED had remained red since the departure of the police station, but exiled under the branches that began to sprout, some yellow flashes came to interrupt the turmoil. Gavin, too, felt more relaxed, letting himself be won over by hope.

The sergeant burst out laughing:

“You bet your mind is less tenacious: I just have to press the button and you’ll be off!”

“Try so and it’s your off button that I’ll use.”

Maybe it was because of the backlash, but Gavin went off in a real laugh:

“Ok, now that we’re equals, I take your threats more seriously.”

“You shouldn’t: I happen to mess around as much as you.”

“Messing around? In the human sense, or in the android sense?”

“Both.”

It felt so good: pressure was going down, spring was finally growing over the arms of a tall lilac, covering it with downy buds.

An hour later, they went back to the hall to ask for news. The hostess raised her face, with this same kind smile:

“Mr. Landru’s awake. You can see him for five minutes in room 755.”

When an android said five minutes, it meant five minutes, and not a second more, so the duo lost no time and headed for the elevator.

“I told you, a strong mind.”

“And extra technology.”

“We complete each other.”

Since they were alone, Conrad took the opportunity to hit him with the hip.

In the end, the corridors were only traversed by androids; human doctors were occupied in the operating rooms and families were already standing at the bedside of loved ones.

As they entered, Gavin was expecting to see someone already sitting near Landru’s bed, but there was only one android who was adjusting the surveillance machines. The nurse, conceived with the appearance of a tall black man, as thin and robust as an athlete, saluted them.

While whispering in a monotone voice, he reminded them of the rules, ending with some advice:

“Mr. Landru is awake, but he’s very tired and is 86% blind, please, speak slowly.”

His gaze caught on Conrad’s, descended to the prototype model, then went back to the screens.

“Will he— remain blind?”

“There’s little chance. He’ll be able to see again within a few days.”

The hospital bed did not look like a coffin, but the body was so static that Gavin did not dare approach immediately. Landru was no longer Landru.

It was fortunate that he was already bald: the surgeons had not need to shave his skull, however, the bandage that covered his temple reminded that the surgery had been made. At least, his beard was intact, as fine as the other days.

As far back as he can remember, Gavin had never seen Landru without expression: he had this amused grin every time he told a good joke or heard one. When he became serious again, his gray eyebrows rose and the tips of his ears reacted, ready to listen. He was so talkative, even during his work, that his jaw surely moved even when he was sleeping.

Moreover, he was an incredibly tall man, even surpassing the RK900, but lying on that bed, his face static, he looked really vulnerable.

Conrad approached first, staring at the bandage before going down to the closed eyelids. He had never seen the doctor from this angle, and like Gavin, that fragility hit him.

The hands were cold, so the android increased his temperature to bring some comfort, applying his warm palms.

“Christopher?”

The android had leaned over and, for Landru, his voice was like a mist added to the clouds, the ones already floating around his aching head. He could not tell if his eyes were open or not: the fog had drowned his sight. Still, he felt the softness that had enveloped his hands, and if his lips remained paralyzed, he did want to smile.

He tried to articulate the name of his friend, happy to receive visitors.

“Gavin’s here too.”

The weight was heavy in his chest, but Gavin managed to get closer, still not recognizing the coroner.

The clothes, too, did not match with the character: where was the long white coat? Where were these V-neck sweaters, always above a flawless white collar and imitating the obsolete fashion of old English teachers? The blue paper pajamas snatched a grimace from the sergeant who showed his support by stroking his friend’s shoulder.

It would take considerable effort for Landru to move: his bones had turned into cement, his muscles were dry and painful, his tendons were frozen— Yet he managed to turn his head a bit to the visitors. The rigid neck prevented him from moving further.

“The time’s over.” The android said with a sorry tone, hands crossed behind his back.

Gavin and Conrad wished Landru a quick recovery, and reluctantly walked away to the door, followed by the nurse.

The RK900 stopped then.

“Gavin, Debra Spencer’s in this hospital, we could try to question her? She refused to talk to Chris, but we met her husband, maybe she’ll see us?”

The MC700 turned away his head, hoping to hide his LED disturbed by the mention of this case. He stayed calm when the sergeant asked Spencer’s room number in the corridor, and Gavin even presented his badge, justifying his request.

“We’d like to ask her some questions.”

“I’m sorry; Officer Miller has been here tonight, and Mrs. Spencer refuses to speak to the police.”

“Is it a refusal from the hospital, or from Mrs. Spencer in person?” Conrad had moved closer to his fellow, ready to grab him.

“It’s a refusal from Mrs. Spencer.”

Gavin had wrapped his arm around Conrad’s waist, sensing that his partner might get impatient. Just like the murder of Fathia, this case concerned him beyond professional reasons: it was something personal.

“It doesn’t make sense, Gavin.”

“That Spencer refuses to talk?”

“According to you, who called the police?”

That’s it, the sergeant understood where the android meant: with the break-in, it would have been logical for Debra Spencer to be the one who called the police, but she had just made a suicide attempt and was still in shock. And in any case, she did not want to talk to the police.

The call was made, obviously, by the savior.

“The one who stopped her from killing herself.”

“He could’ve just called the ambulance.”

“Wait, Conrad, it could be Mark Spencer.”

“Chris arrived at the Spencer’s very early: the call was made just after the one for the hospital.”

By retrieving the photos, Conrad had access to the hours and notes of the still-in-progress report, so Gavin knew the information was reliable.

However, the elements did not connect; something was missing and Conrad could not guess it.

“What if she knew her savior? Maybe it was Mark Spencer, and to avoid a scandal, they said nothing?”

“Mark Spencer was at a meeting that night, the media confirmed and proved it. But that doesn’t prevent the fact that she could know her savior, yes, which would explain why she refuses to speak.”

“In addition, that person could’ve threatened her. Many people give up talking once they are in front of us because of fear.”

“But it would be strange: save her to threaten her next?”

“You know very well that humans can do very fucking weird stuff.”

The nurse was standing in front of the door, standing guard in front of Landru’s room, when in fact he was recording the conversation between the RK900 and his partner. Darren had never met such a fellow. Oh, of course, nobody had ever met this prototype: the RK900 was only a few months old, and most importantly, he was unique. He had the advantage of benefiting from the top of the technology, with his strength, speed, and longevity.

If he had wanted to, the RK900 could have pushed the MC700 back to be free to follow the investigation that concerned Spencer’s wife. Perhaps he had considered this method, before the sergeant would retain him closely.

But it was not this novelty that surprised Darren the most: it was the obvious deviance of the RK900, and the complicity with the human who accompanied him. Who was this android, the successor of the deviant hunter?

Did he have the same goal as the RK800?

Darren kept his joints locked, blending into the background as the most docile of machines. Fear was an effective survival instinct, even for robots.

Suddenly, Conrad understood.

“Gavin, I do believe having feelings makes me less effective.”

“Oh, come on! Is it my fault again?”

“No! No, I wasn’t talking about you.”

Conrad recapitulated the situation: after writing her confused message, soaked in tears, Mark Spencer’s wife tried to commit suicide by hanging, a method that do not bother with regrets, since it is very difficult to interrupt when the rope is already around the throat. She had received outside help, it was obvious.

Mark Spencer was at a meeting, and he did not come back for several hours: the call was not made by him.

Everything had been played out in a few seconds: the rescue and the calls made to the hospital and the police station.

Why call a policeman?

“Because of my deviancy, there’s a last possibility I didn’t consider, but I should’ve: what if Chris knew the savior?”

“Chris?!” Gavin gave a voice, and just remembered they were in a hospital corridor. “Conrad, are you fucking stupid or—”

“See? You’re friend with Chris too, so you refuse this possibility. But Chris deals with the case alone, and I wonder why he isn’t concentrating on this call as he’s investigating a home invasion.”

Officer Miller was a good element of the Detroit police, and Conrad refused to believe he was capable of such gross negligence.

They had only focused on Debra Spencer, shocked by her gesture, forgetting the rest. Maybe Conrad was right: his deviancy could also be a weakness.

“I really hope Chris gets into nothing illegal—”

“Me too, Gavin.”

Chris had never judged his colleagues, he had even shown understanding, able to keep their secret, and Conrad hoped he could do the same—

 

When they returned to the police station, Chris was no longer working on his computer, and his seat was empty.

Even more intriguing: several colleagues had stood up, staring at Fowler’s desk. In the glass frame, as fascinating as a television, a silent scene was played; there was no sound, but the storm, visible, exploded. Fowler sometimes raised his arms, as if trying to push back his desk, his gesture certainly held by the mug, where was written “Best dad ever”, filled with tea. His daughter would have shown even greater anger if he had broken it—

Gavin and Conrad knew they were coming too late: Chris was sitting in front of the captain, his neck bent.

Right behind them, Officer Alfred Wilson nibbled the inside of his cheek, worried.

“What happened?”

“We don’t know: Chris asked to see the captain, and it’s been ten minutes they’re discu— well, that Fowler’s yelling at him.”

They had to wait a little longer, before Chris, shoulders still heavy, went out.

Some of his colleagues were already waiting near his desk, and their reception was painful for the policeman. Nobody said a single word, giving Chris time to explain.

After a strangled sigh, he swallowed his tears and stammered the terrible news:

“I— well— I’m fired.”

Tina let out a cry, unable to believe it. In fact, nobody could believe it: only Chris had accepted his fate, aware of his professional misconduct.

Frank and upright, Officer Miller had made the decision after the departure of Gavin and Conrad, the one to confess everything to the captain.

He could not stand the guilt that contradicted the job he was taking to heart.

He had been split between his family and his goals, protecting Monica as a brother, but not as a policeman. With his little sister, he could not be Officer Miller, and it was time for it to change.

He rubbed his chin with the flat of his hand, gave a new sigh, and explained to his colleagues why he no longer deserved to wear the black uniform:

“My little sister, Monica, has joined this group of young people, those who call themselves Black Cats and tattoo cat paws on their fingers.” These famous cats were very numerous and some had already received a blame, but their youth and their peaceful side had never brought anything more. Chris confessed that for several months, he had protected his sister, trying to reason with her, without result. “I deleted some files to hide it. She called me the night Debra Spencer had tried to kill herself, as the Black Cats were squatting Spencer’s place at the same time. And I decided it was the last time.”

Silence fell in this corner of the police station.

Alfred kept his arms crossed, his incisors planted in his lip. He knew that Fowler was always getting carried away, his words often went beyond his thoughts, but firing Chris? That was fucking unfair.

“After all he has done to protect Hank, he fires you?”

Gavin also thought the sanction was hard. Of course, he was disappointed by his colleague, surprised by so much naivety, unlike Conrad who tried to understand with the family connection and, therefore, was more tolerant, but that did not change anything to the point that mentioned Alfred: Jeffrey Fowler had done everything for Lieutenant Anderson, and he had  never been fired, not even demoted. Officer Miller deserved as much.

For even though police officers had forgiven Hank for his repeated delays, burrs, and spoiled temper, those grueling moments had poisoned the station for months. Hank had lost his son and his endless mourning had been the reason for the misbehavior, but Chris’ reasons had also been heard: Monica was going to celebrate her sixteenth birthday in May, and having a policeman for older brother did not make her wiser. The fact that he sought to protect her was justified!

The police began to criticize their captain’s decision aloud, recalling how Hank had received repeated favors. Anecdotes were flowing through the lobby, now.

Seeing how his men had gathered, Fowler left his office and ordered everyone to get back to work, but the policemen refused, shouting that it was unfair.

Chris was exhausted: his last nights were too short, and if he managed to close his eyes, his sleep was filled with anxiety in the form of nightmares. Seeing how Alfred, Tina, Gavin, Ben and the others supported him brought a bittersweet joy: he was happy to be so supported, but in the end, he persuaded himself not to deserve as much.

Tina ran an arm around her colleague’s shoulders, and the latter had just lowered his face to discreetly wipe his eyes.

“Chris was almost killed during the android rebellion! You brought in a psychologist when Hank committed suicide, but you totally forgot everything Chris had been through!”

Androids remained impassive in the face of all these shouts of voice; unlike the inmates in the cells that clung to the windows, trying to see what was going on.

After a good quarter of an hour, Fowler finally abdicated: Chris would keep his job, but he would be suspended. The punishment was still too unfair for some, who would have just tolerated an official reprimand, but Chris assured them that it was okay: they should not be on bad terms with Fowler.

“I suspected something was wrong.” Conrad confided a little later, standing back with the officer who had started packing his things. “Why didn’t you say a thing?”

“Gavin is mad at me, it’s obvious. He’s uncompromising, so I was not going to—”

The android shrugged; the sergeant also had committed professional misconduct. His secret was well preserved: his affair with Fathia El Harbi, informer and prostitute, was still ignored by his colleagues.

Conrad would be silent, of course, but if Gavin criticized their colleague’s choices, he would remind him of that blunder, just to put him in his place.

“I wasn’t talking about Gavin: I was talking about me, Chris. I would’ve helped you.”

Chris stared at him with round eyes, incredulous: the RK900 would have helped him delete files?

“I almost made mistakes, too,” Conrad justified himself: without his downfall when he got his hands on one of the pedophiles, a few months ago, in that abandoned barn, he might have killed Joyce Stace. He really meant to crash his skull. “You kept my secret to the end, you supported me, so I would’ve done the same for you.”

It was a relief to discover that Chris was not involved in a more serious crime; better, his intentions were quite noble, according to Conrad.

His friend thanked him sincerely, and accepted Conrad’s help to gather some documents.

 

Officer Miller had been suspended for three weeks. His office was now deserted, but knowing that it would be occupied again by the same colleague reassured the police station.

After this wind of rebellion, Fowler was in a chilly mood, although he was, in fact, glad his men were offended: the first sanction had been too hard, especially compared to Hank’s situation, and the captain remembered Miller was a good man. If the police had stayed mute, the captain would have been gnawed by the regrets—

Gavin finished cleaning his desk, putting back the documents, and then turned off the computer, imitated by Conrad. It was Friday noon, and they would have to drive for two hours to Port Austin. Two hours to follow Highway 53, a road as slender and as strict as a prison corridor, but at least, the weather promised a clear sky, which would compete with black tar.

Before putting their bags in the car, Gavin installed Conrad on a chair in the bathroom, ready to make him look fully human.

Gnocchi had slumped on the android’s knees, enjoying how the stomach of the robot could serve as heating, and a heater able to scratch his back and head. The crème de la crème of technology according to his humble feline opinion.

“What name did you choose for the reservation?”

“Gavin Reed.”

He was making fun of him, so the android gave him a blow to the ankle.

“I know your name is Gavin Reed, but what about me?”

“Conrad Reed.”

“Really?”

“Nope. Married couples wear alliances, otherwise, it’s suspicious. And I didn’t have enough time to buy wedding rings.”

Conrad had sensed the joke, yet he had to admit he was a little disappointed. With an almost sad smile, he touched the first phalanx of his ring finger. Even if androids became free, he and Gavin would surely not live long enough for the time when marriage between humans and robots will be accepted.

Gavin had already laid the aluminum foil against the LED, and he was now covering it with silicone. They would stay in Port Austin until Sunday night, so he would do this makeup at the hotel at least twice.

“Do I have to expect a bad joke for my name?”

With the aluminum layer, Gavin could not see the yellow LED, but it turned blue as he leaned down to kiss the corner of Conrad’s lips.

“Not at all: I booked for Gavin Reed and Conrad Cooper. I wasn’t really inspired, that’s all.”

“Copper isn’t so present in my structure.”

“What would you suggest? Conrad Titanium?”

The android laughed, giving reason to his partner.

He soon became pensive again, though. How would the androids be called if they became free? With their serial number? The name of their previous owner if the relations were cordial? Would they adopt an equivalent of Freeman?

The RK900 paused its programs, curbing this hope before dreaming too high: first, he had to discover why Spencer had changed his mind. That was his priority. Then, he could convince humans that Spencer’s new speech was just a bunch of bullshit.

In a way, Conrad felt responsible for this turnaround: had he made a bad impression on the politician? Did his relationship with Gavin scared him?

When he was finished, Gavin could be proud of himself: the LED was totally hidden and Conrad would blend into the crowd without any problem. The RK900 had been fairly unobtrusive on the media, and it was unlikely that photos would be shown at the event. There would be such a crowd, visitors would see a vague resemblance if some remembered the face of the RK800.

He touched the arm of the android, where the blue band was.

“Hiding your LED will be useless during next Summer: we can do nothing for your arm.”

“Maybe we won’t need to do it anymore.”

The android remembered he was going to meet Margaret, the model who did not have any distinctive signs. For nothing in the world Conrad would have asked to be rid of his LED and the light on his arm: he was an android and did not want to become human. What he wanted was to get rights, to be free to exist— vows close to those of Markus and the deviants who had followed him before.

The RK900 got rid of his uniform, removing the signs that he no longer wanted to wear as signs: the time of a weekend, he would wear the clothes he wants. The jeans, the black shirt and the white jacket were rolled into a ball in the laundry basket. Gnocchi could sleep on it if he wanted to.

If a new handful of androids could get rights, they would be the pioneers of a new daily life, a new lifestyle. They would raise key questions: did an android need a home? A salary or something equivalent?

Gavin knocked on the door, as if he needed to ask permission to enter, which made Conrad smile.

“Are you ready, Eve?”

“Soon, Wall-E.”

The day before, they had watched this old Pixar classic, and in the first minutes of the movie, Gavin had made fun of the RK900 about his resemblance to Eve the robot: all black and white with azure eyes, a sense of rigid duty, a force which sometimes made him awkward—

To which Conrad had replied that the similarities between Wall-E and the sergeant were numerous too: smaller than him, of a more neglected appearance and not really gifted for approaches.

The RK900 perfectly reproduced Eve’s “Wall-E”, and his imitation did not fail to make Gavin laugh. He could call him like this all day, he would never get tired of it.

When Conrad returned to the room, Gavin had just closed his bag. The rolled-up sleeves of the sweater showed the scar on his forearm, memory of Samuel Brooks’ attempted murder. The flesh was still swollen, of damaged pink, and Gavin would keep this mark all his life.

The trial of Samuel Brooks would not take place for several months, but Conrad had access to some medical expertise: without regret, emotions as blunt as those of a machine, Brooks remained an obsession for the android. The fear that he could become like this man always haunted him.

Some days, he was able to reassure himself by comparing the profile of this killer with other criminal cases, and a detail came back again and again: to kill was to break the link between society and oneself. It was to reject humanity as far as possible, to detach oneself from it. A project that had never touched the programs of Conrad who, for his part, wanted to fit.

He fully understood Gavin’s lack of empathy for Brooks, as the RK900 would not have any qualms about a deviant wanting to follow a criminal path neither.

Well, that said, he never met any other deviant—

During their visit to CyberLife, Chloe spoke about the RK200 and a PJ500; Markus and— and who? The media had only spoken of Markus, presenting him as the main leader because of his speech, but the demands had been made by a multitude of voices with his.

In any case, it confirmed that Markus was still there, somewhere. Would it be improved thanks to the evolution of the RK series? Should Kamski hide it in CyberLife because of what happened last year?

Suddenly, Conrad remembered Dr. Landru’s KL400: why had she warned him that the doctor would be hospitalized?

“Gavin, when we come back— We’ll try to bring Moira to see Landru at the hospital.”

He stared at him with big eyes:

“Why?”

“I think she turned deviant.”

Gavin was tempted to curse, but narrowly restrained himself.

“Do you really think it’ll be a good idea? If she has just become deviant, she may be unstable—”

“All the new deviants are a bit unstable,” confessed Conrad; he knew something about it. “And that’s exactly why she must be surrounded: Landru almost died, and the shock was powerful enough to make her react. The more Moira feels supported, the better.”

The RK900 could communicate with his fellow, and he promised to contact her regularly, to advise her in the absence of the doctor.

After a sigh, Gavin agreed:

“What I do for you—”

“I just want to help Moira, Gavin. I’m not leading a revolt of deviants.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that, Eve.”

 

Even in the car, they kept bickering, recalling scenes from the movie that became jokes.

For the rare moments of calm, Gavin focused on the program of the event, telling his partner what was new. The name of the mystery guest was still a secret, but that of Riley Webb was associated with articles and a full biography.

Apparently, she joined Mark Spencer in November 2038, or rather, the day after Markus’ speech, convinced that androids were a new form of life.

They still did not know how they were going to approach her: if Conrad had to admit he was the RK900, it was better to do it during a quiet moment.

In any case, if Gavin was not of a timid nature, Conrad was even less so: as soon as the opportunity presented itself, he would go to speak to the philosopher. The sergeant did not doubt it for a single second.

“At least, over there, you’re not going to be put down by an EMP.”

To reassure him, Conrad grabs his hand to bring it to his lips.

“It’s going to be fine, Wall-E.”

On the back of his hand, Gavin was persuaded to feel a breath, light and imperceptible, but he imagined it was heating in the car.

With the fright they had for Landru, they had not had the opportunity to check what changes CyberLife had made. Maybe Gavin was a little scared, afraid Conrad’s state would get worse, since after all, it was still a test prototype.

Yet, Gavin was certain to have noticed some new details.

Curious, he was tempted to ask Conrad to stop at the next rest area. He felt quite inspired by a weekend away from Detroit and the idea of spending two nights in a hotel, but he had just enough time to put his hand on the driver’s thigh, before seeing Port Austin right in front.

If the horizon was flat decades ago, it was now an irregular jaw where some gray teeth had grown. The arms of the harbor had stretched out, recovering wealth from Detroit to make poverty a bad memory. The houses remained numerous, and the majority had been renovated, welcoming and warm despite the shadow cast by taller buildings. However, none exceeded five floors: the tallest towers, those that exceeded this quota, had been pushed back to the beach, making the windows some observatories of Lake Huron.

Port Austin seemed to have been split between a more family-oriented life, with a rural heritage, and a more active, more modern life.

The conference center was a geometric structure that had given great importance to glass, which had been the architects’ favorite material for some years, and the transparent body had to offer a magnificent view of the lake.

While observing the surroundings, Conrad asked:

“Do you want to stay in the hotel a bit, or go to RoboTech right now?”

“To go there right away, so we finally discover what it looks like.”

“Ah? I’m a bit surprised, but okay.”

Gavin eyed him and the android laughed:

“You were going to ask me something before we arrived, right? You always have an idea in mind when you put your hand four inches from my hip.”

“You really measure that?”

“It’s something that I noticed, even if you do it unconsciously: every time you want to make love, you put your hand at this precise distance, which is four inches away from what interest you.”

Gavin’s fist hit at exactly nine inches above Conrad’s right elbow.

“Yeah? Guess what, your statistics are shit: we’re going to investigate, instead of hanging out at the hotel.”

But the smirk proved, all the same, that the android was right.


End file.
